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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28650090">Innocence and Indiscretion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calais_Reno/pseuds/Calais_Reno'>Calais_Reno</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Conductor of Light [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blackmail, Burglary, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Disguised Sherlock Holmes, Don't copy to another site, Jealousy, M/M, Murder, POV Sherlock Holmes, Story: The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:42:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28650090</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calais_Reno/pseuds/Calais_Reno</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson convinces Holmes to take the case of a woman being blackmailed. Holmes discovers some of Watson's hidden talents.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Conductor of Light [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>85</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">My Watson is a romantic, through and through, and that is never so clearly seen as when we have a lady client, a damsel in distress. A moist eye, a quivering voice, or a shaking hand all compel him to don his armour and ride to their rescue. He is sadly susceptible to feminine wiles, and fills his stories with this romantic nonsense. Fortunately, he finds them less interesting once they’ve been rescued.</p><p class="p1">I am not susceptible in the least to the wiles of either gender, and hold the same standard for all of my cases. If a potential client bores me, there is little chance I will take their case.</p><p class="p1">Many of my clients are foolish, especially those young ladies who have been indiscreet, record those indiscretions in writing, and live to regret putting a postage stamp on said indiscretions and mailing them to another person.</p><p class="p1">Lady Eva Blackwell was one such unfortunate. She was engaged to be married, only to have a past love affair, documented in letters best characterised as “sprightly,” come into a blackmailer’s hands. Her intended, the Earl of Dovercourt, would break their engagement if he were to to learn of these letters. And she might forestall this event merely by paying a sum of money. Instead, she came to me for help.</p><p class="p1">I told her that the odds of keeping her secrets hidden were very slim, even if she paid. The blackmailer might return her letters, but what they contained had already been read and might come back to haunt her at any time. She could never make the final payment on her past, never be free from the fear of future discovery. This is what makes blackmail such an effective crime, I explained. She left, downhearted.</p><p class="p1">Watson stood at the window watching her depart, his shoulders tense, his whole attitude radiating displeasure.“But why?” he asked, turning to look at me. “Why will you not help her?”</p><p class="p1">“The lady was indiscreet, foolish enough to record her indiscretions,and unlucky enough to have them found by someone who recognised that he might profit by them.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s a crime,” he pointed out.</p><p class="p1">“And how am I to help her? The blackmailer cannot lose. Either he receives the money he has demanded, or he gains credibility for his threats against others by following through and ruining her.”</p><p class="p1">“You might steal the letters.”</p><p class="p1">“That is also a crime. Consider this, Watson. To burgle the house of a blackmailer is like laying siege to Troy. Indiscreet letters are his stock-in-trade. He doesn’t leave them lying on his desk. They are in a locked safe, inside a locked room, inside a house more carefully guarded than the Bank of England.”</p><p class="p1">He gave me a cunning look. “As I recall, Troy eventually fell, thanks to a wooden horse stuffed with Greek soldiers.”</p><p class="p1">“A fairy tale,” I said. “And a poor analogy. The Bank of England, on the other hand, has never been robbed.”</p><p class="p1">He sighed. “The lady cannot be blamed; she was too young to have understood how it might hurt her.”</p><p class="p1">I chuckled. “Perhaps you should think about your own indiscretions, dear boy.”</p><p class="p1">He blushed down to his roots. “You’re right,” he said. “But people oft-times make mistakes when they can see no other choice. And going after a blackmailer will deter other blackmailers, which may profit future victims.”</p><p class="p1">“This case will <em>not</em> profit me,” I replied. “If I negotiate with Milverton, it will only teach other blackmailers to ask an unreasonably high price, and victims that they only need run to me for help. I will become the broker of all such transactions and waste my talent saving the reputations of foolish people.”</p><p class="p1">Watson sulked, clattered about in the kitchen, cleaning up the remains of my last experiment. Listening to his noisy discontent, I finally could stand it no more. “Come, Watson. Time for a ramble.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The weather was frosty, the kind of cold that is not slushy, but brittle. We went briskly, our breath crystallising in front of our faces as we walked. The afternoon was already growing into twilight. Watson kept quiet, sensible that I was thinking.</p><p class="p1">“My dear Watson,” I said after we’d been around the park once. “You once named lock picking as one of your skills. Was that an exaggeration?”</p><p class="p1">“Not a bit. My uncle Bertie taught me. Burglary was his trade.”</p><p class="p1">“Your father’s brother?”</p><p class="p1">“Indeed. He was a black sheep in a family where most of the sheep were at least grey.”</p><p class="p1">“He was your teacher, you say. But being taught a skill is not the same as being skilled. Do you have practical experience?”</p><p class="p1">“You mean, have I ever burgled a house? I am no thief, Holmes.”</p><p class="p1">“Being able to pick a lock does not necessarily lead to burglary. I’ll take your answer as an affirmative. And I have no problem admitting that I <em>am</em> a thief, or at least have a disposition that leans towards larceny. I used to steal things from Mycroft’s rooms, just to see how long it would take him to notice. He is a most observant person, which taught me stealth. Our skills, then, are complementary. How about safe-cracking? Did Uncle Bertie also teach you that?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes. It’s more difficult than picking a lock, and when stealth is not required it’s faster and easier simply to set a charge and blow the thing open. Given enough time, though, I could get into most strongboxes without an explosion.”</p><p class="p1">We walked in silence for a while. I could sense Watson’s impatience to know what I was thinking, but did not give him an opening.</p><p class="p1">At last he made a huffing sound, sending out of cloud of vapour before his face. “Though you have not said as much, I deduce that you are taking the case.”</p><p class="p1">“Hm.”</p><p class="p1">He waited for me to continue. When I did not, he said, “If you have a plan, you should at least share it with me. If you want me to break into the house, I am willing, as you already know. I am always willing, Holmes. You need not ask. But if we are partners, plans must be discussed before you sneak out of the house in some terrible disguise.”</p><p class="p1">“Terrible!” I stopped walking, turned to face him. “Did my clergyman costume not fool you? I recall a moment of doubt on your face that time— do not deny it!”</p><p class="p1">“I know your face better than my own,” he hissed. “I know <em>every part</em> of you.”</p><p class="p1">“No need to be crude, Watson.”</p><p class="p1">He huffed out another cloud of vapour.</p><p class="p1">“You’re angry,” I observed.</p><p class="p1">“Are we partners, Holmes? I ask because very often it seems that you regard me as an employee, an errand boy, a clerk. I demanded full partnership with you, and you agreed. I am aware that you have specialised knowledge that gives you an advantage in many areas, but why will you not trust me to learn? Why did you agree to have me as your partner, if you do not trust me?”</p><p class="p1">“I trust you completely,” I said. “Which is why I am relying on you to open both the door and the safe. My part will be to learn the layout of the house and to steal the items.”</p><p class="p1">He nodded. “And you will be donning no disguises?”</p><p class="p1">“I didn’t say that.” I smiled at him. “You will see, dear partner.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">When we arrived back at our rooms, Mrs Hudson met us with a card. I snorted and tossed it to the floor.</p><p class="p1">Watson picked it up. “<em>Charles Augustus Milverton, Appledore Towers, Hampstead. Agent. </em>This is the man, Holmes!<em>” </em>He turned it over. “<em>Will call at 6:30. </em>He’s been here, and will return in a half an hour.”</p><p class="p1">“Let’s have some tea.”</p><p class="p1">Watson made the tea, spread some toast with jam, and cut it into triangles. “You must eat something, my dear.”</p><p class="p1">“I think better on an empty stomach.”</p><p class="p1">He settled into his chair. “You really ought to listen to your doctor, seeing as how you’ve paid for his expertise. About Milverton— what will you tell him?”</p><p class="p1">“That our client cannot afford what he is asking.”</p><p class="p1">“I see. You will let him think he has won. And when will we carry out our burglary?”</p><p class="p1">“Hush, John. Let me do some thinking before this <em>agent</em> stops by.”</p><p class="p1">He was quiet then. The only reason I hadn’t shared my plan with him was that I didn’t yet have one. In the silence, I was aware of him tidying up, preparing for our visitor. Though I had initially rejected the idea of burgling Milverton’s house, Watsons’ suggestion, combined with his lock-picking skills, had made me reconsider.</p><p class="p1">But it is one thing to attempt illegal acts while proceeding alone, quite another to bring an accomplice into danger. This, I suppose, was the reason he thought I did not trust him, when in fact I did not wish to endanger him. In his mind, I am quite sure they are the same thing. I needed to plan carefully, so as not to put us both in over our heads.</p><p class="p1">It gave me a small thrill to think of him kneeling at a lock, working a delicate pick in the lock’s mechanism. He had very sensitive hands, I knew from experience. I longed to see him at work.</p><p class="p1">As we were finishing up our tea, we heard a rattle in the street. Watson ran to the window and looked down. “Here he is now, in his carriage.” He laughed. “He looks like Mr Pickwick!”</p><p class="p1">“I assure you he is not so benevolent, my boy. We shall have to keep an eye on him. In spite of his jolly appearance, he is like a snake, silent and dangerous.”</p><p class="p1">We heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, laboured breathing, and then a knock. Watson opened the door. A short, stout man wearing a heavy astrakhan overcoat entered. His face was round, and might have appeared kindly but for the hard glitter of his penetrating eyes.</p><p class="p1">Shrugging off his coat, Milverton cast a shrewd look at Watson, who with hostile submissiveness took the coat, folded it carefully, and laid it across the back of a chair.</p><p class="p1">“Your boy,” he said, taking the offered seat. “Is he trustworthy? Discreet? I am thinking only of your client.”</p><p class="p1">“My <em>partner</em> is not your concern. I trust him, and that is all you need to know.”</p><p class="p1">Milverton’s eyes glittered cannily as he gazed at Watson. Then he shrugged and took the chair opposite mine. “Let us talk business, then.” In his lap he held a small document case.</p><p class="p1">“I have letters,” he began. “They were written some years ago by your client. The beau, alas, was unworthy of her. A sad story, and a common one.” He sighed. “Seven thousand pounds by the fourteenth, if there is to be a marriage on the eighteenth.”</p><p class="p1">“The letters are not indecent. They merely reflect the innocent sentiments of a young girl. If she should confess to her intended husband—”</p><p class="p1">“You obviously do not know the Earl. He will not appreciate these letters.”</p><p class="p1">“The lady is not wealthy. She can afford two thousand pounds, but seven is beyond her resources.”</p><p class="p1">Milverton shrugged. “In such matters, Mr Holmes, one does what one must. You understand— you have a reputation of your own to uphold. If it were threatened, no doubt you would weigh the value of mere money against disgrace and dishonour. Clearly, the lady has not done anything <em>illegal</em>, but the destruction of a reputation is, if anything, more consequential than financial ruin.” He glanced at Watson, returned his gaze to me, and smiled.</p><p class="p1">“The money can not be obtained,” I replied. “You would do better to take two thousand than leave empty-handed.”</p><p class="p1">“But it will not be for nothing.” Milverton gave me an oily smile. “I have several other <em>investments</em> that will soon reach maturity. Your client’s ruin would inspire them to think much more clearly and reasonably. It will certainly improve my business prospects.”</p><p class="p1">He rose from his chair, looking at Watson, who sprang up, his eyes on the document case.</p><p class="p1">Milverton laughed. “Don’t be a fool, boy. Do you really think I would bring the letters here with me? And what would you do— steal them from me? Then I would have to shoot you, and the law would be on my side.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s all right, Watson,” I said. “No need for threats. Mr Milverton is leaving now. Please assist him with his coat.”</p><p class="p1">Watson stood frozen for a moment, then took the coat off the chair, holding it so the man could slip his arms into the sleeves.</p><p class="p1">“I will wait to hear from you, Mr Holmes. But not long. The fourteenth approaches.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Watson paced, irate and nearly speechless. “He is a monster! We must do something!”</p><p class="p1">“Calm yourself,” I said. “When a man is hot-headed there is no possibility of him acting rationally. And reason is what is needed right now.” A disguise would be essential for the first part, which was reconnaissance. A young tradesman, I thought. Surely there were women in Milverton’s employ…</p><p class="p1">Watson sank into his chair. “I cannot be calm with such a despicable human being preying on people. Perhaps you are not so hot, but we must do something. Sitting around smoking our pipes while that— that <em>snake</em>—”</p><p class="p1">“It’s late, Watson. Go to bed.”</p><p class="p1">“I cannot sleep.”</p><p class="p1">“You are too emotional, John. Milverton is a cold bastard, I grant you. But we will not melt him with sentiment. Go to bed.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The following day I received a note from Milverton. It contained one sentence: <em>For the return of documents concerning the career of John H Watson, boy prostitute, ten thousand pounds paid in cash by the fourteenth. </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I dressed myself as a labourer, attaching a goatee and covering my hair with a tattered cap. Swaggering into the sitting room, I paused to see what affect my appearance would have on Watson.</p><p class="p1">“What do you think?”</p><p class="p1">He gave me an appraising look. “You’re improving, but still look a bit of a toff.” Coming to me, he removed my cap, ruffled my hair, and pulled a curl down over my forehead. “There. Now you’re a credible rogue. I assume that’s what you’re aiming at. What is your trade?”</p><p class="p1">“Plumber’s assistant.”</p><p class="p1">“Do you know anything about plumbing?”</p><p class="p1">“Watson, I am a scientist. Plumbing is merely applied physics.”</p><p class="p1">“I see,” he said. “And was it you who applied physics to Mrs Hudson’s sink while she was out at the shops yesterday?”</p><p class="p1">“It was an experiment. I fixed it when I was done. I’m not sure why plumbers are so highly paid when it’s merely pipes and valves. At any rate, Mr Milverton’s staff may need my services today. I believe they are having some trouble with the water pressure.”</p><p class="p1">“You’ve tampered with the line.”</p><p class="p1">“I may have.”</p><p class="p1">He nodded. “Your object is to learn the layout of the house, you said.”</p><p class="p1">“And, with some luck, to seduce the housemaid.”</p><p class="p1">He laughed. “Was your adventure with Miss Ashton-Farbridge not enough romance for you? If you want seducing done well, you might have asked me.”</p><p class="p1">“You were no more successful with Miss Wickham than I was with Miss Ashton-Farbridge. Perhaps you’re jealous.” I gave him a rakish look. “You’re a flirt, John Watson, a shameless heartbreaker, and I do not trust you around ladies unless I am there to scare them off. If I were to send you on this errand, I have no doubt that you would come home engaged.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, I hope you learned something from your close call with matrimony. Namely, that flattery works much better than telling a woman her prospects are dwindling because she is too old, too poor, and not interesting enough to tempt any man.”</p><p class="p1">“How you put words in my mouth, Watson! I may have suggested to the lady that the clock was ticking, that is all. It is true that my intelligence surpasses hers, but that is true for almost every one I meet, not women only.”</p><p class="p1">“Poor girl,” he said, grinning. “Whomever you plan to seduce, I pity her.”</p><p class="p1">“The cook or the housemaid, I think.”</p><p class="p1">“But not the butler, I hope.”</p><p class="p1">“Certainly not,” I said. “Regardless, I will be playing a role, not myself, and will adapt my seduction to its object.”</p><p class="p1">“Don’t take it too far,” he advised. “Hell hath no fury—“</p><p class="p1">“I know, my boy. Believe me, the last thing I want is another fiancée.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I took a train north to Hampstead. In my present guise, as a plumber, a cab would have looked extravagant. Fortunately, I had learned enough about plumbing to be convincing, and had the foresight to have turned down the water pressure into the house the night before. The staff ought to have noticed it by now, and would be trying to get someone to come look at it.</p><p class="p1">Milverton lived in a large, gloomy-looking brick house right off Heath Street. I rang at the trade entrance and met the housemaid, a marginally pretty woman named Agatha. By the time I’d fixed the pipe, I’d arranged to walk out with her that evening.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Spending the evening with a woman was tedious. I tried to follow her chatter, but found that she seemed content if I merely gazed at her with admiration. An hour was all I could take. I dropped her off at her door, stood for a moment twisting my cap nervously like a schoolboy, hoping she would not expect a kiss.</p><p class="p1">“My dear Aggie,” I said, “I do not wish to take liberties.”</p><p class="p1">“Take them,” she replied, stepping towards me.</p><p class="p1">I seized her hand and kissed it. Smiling up at her roguishly, I whispered, “My lady.”</p><p class="p1">“Such a gentleman.” She giggled and went inside.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As I walked from the train, I calculated how many more nights of wooing I could afford and how far I would have to advance this romance. She was not an ugly girl, but I am not moved by feminine beauty. Kissing could not be avoided, I decided.</p><p class="p1">I rounded the corner of Baker Street, thinking of what I still needed to learn. I knew the general layout of the house, but wanted to know more about her master’s habits. Women love to talk, but she might grow suspicious if I asked too many questions about what time Milverton retired and where his bedroom was located.</p><p class="p1">Lost in thought, I was startled when strong arms grabbed me from behind and a rough voice whispered in my ear.</p><p class="p1">“You rogue.”</p><p class="p1">“Watson, I—“</p><p class="p1">“Hush. Did you really expect that you could walk out dressed like that and come home smelling of perfume? Did you not expect to find me waiting for you?”</p><p class="p1">He pulled me into the alley nearest 221B, shoved me against a wall. I felt his breath hot on my neck.</p><p class="p1">“Please,” I moaned. I wasn’t sure what I was asking for, but felt certain he could give it to me.</p><p class="p1">“In a fine suit, you’re a treat for the eyes. Tonight—“ he slipped a hand into my trousers. “I want to have my way with you, posh boy.”</p><p class="p1">I found that I was invested in the game. “Take me,” I whispered.</p><p class="p1">“How shall I take you? I want all of you at once.” His expression was predatory.</p><p class="p1">“Any— any way you want.” I was trying to work out the logistics of copulation, fully-clothed, in an alley, when he dropped to his knees and opened my trousers.</p><p class="p1">“Mine,” he growled.</p><p class="p1">I didn’t last long.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">On the third evening, I came back late, as had been my habit. I lingered a bit on the street, but was not met by any dangerous men wanting to have their way with me. Disappointed, I headed up the stairs and entered the flat.</p><p class="p1">Watson was reading a book. He did not glance up.</p><p class="p1">I took off my goatee, and sat before the fire, regarding my colleague.</p><p class="p1">He looked up from his book and sighed. “You’re engaged.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, yes. In a manner of speaking.”</p><p class="p1">"Holmes…” He frowned. “And who is the lucky lady?”</p><p class="p1">“Miss Agatha Downs, Milverton’s housemaid. I’ve been walking out with her each evening, and talking.” I shook my head. “Good heavens, those talks! But I have what I need— the layout of the house, Milverton’s habits—”</p><p class="p1">“But the girl!”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, who cares about the girl!” I slumped back in my chair. “Perhaps you’d rather I went through with it, just to honour my promise to her.” At Watson’s horrified look, I laughed. “No fear of that happening. I have a hated rival for her affections, who is ready to cut me out the minute my back is turned. She will fall into his arms and have forgotten the name Escott before the week is out.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s fortunate. We must hope that she does indeed forget you. Women sometimes carry grudges, you know.”</p><p class="p1">“I am aware. <em>There is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman</em>. In this case, however, her delusion will be quickly forgotten. Now, then. The plan. We will burgle Milverton’s house tonight. According to Edith—</p><p class="p1">“Edith? What about Agatha? How many women have you romanced?”</p><p class="p1">“Just one, Watson. Her name is of little consequence. According to <em>Agatha</em>, he is a sound sleeper who always retires at 10:30 sharp. The staff joke about how hard he is to wake up.</p><p class="p1">Watson snorted. “He sleeps well, no doubt, because he has no conscience.”</p><p class="p1">“That would appear to be a requirement of the profession,” I replied. “Focus, now. You are to accompany me attired in soft-soled shoes, dark clothing, and—“</p><p class="p1">Watson produced two masks made of black silk. “Will these do?” He put his on.</p><p class="p1">The effect this had on me was dramatic. I imagined Watson climbing up the side of our house, entering through a window, finding me in bed…</p><p class="p1">“Holmes!” The look on his face told me that he’d been trying to get my attention. He’d taken off his mask.</p><p class="p1">“Sorry. Where was I?”</p><p class="p1">“Dark clothing, you said. I have the masks, as you can see.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, of course. Your task is to pick the lock and, once we are in his study, to open the safe. We will take the papers with us and destroy them later. Let’s get dressed now. We can save the masks until we are in his neighbourhood.”</p><p class="p1">As we prepared to leave, I took my revolver from my desk and slipped it into my pocket.</p><p class="p1">“Holmes, I hardly think that—“</p><p class="p1">“For protection,” I said, noting his surprise. “Bring yours as well, Watson.”</p><p class="p1">“We’re already committing burglary,” he replied. “I hope we’ll not add murder to that.”</p><p class="p1">“No worries. I’d rather have it than not.”</p><p class="p1">He shook his head. “I disagree. Nothing good can come out of it. The danger is that we might be discovered, and shooting someone can in no way make that better.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t intend to use it,” I replied. “We’re dealing with a dangerous man, Watson, one who threatens people daily. I’d like to have a threat of my own. I am not a man to lose my head. Not as hot-headed as some people I <em>know</em>, but will not <em>name</em>.”</p><p class="p1">He sighed, but did not argue the point any further.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">We waited outside the wrought-iron fence until the house lights had all been out for a half an hour before entering through the garden. It was not yet midnight. I had worked out that we should enter through the green house, which opened into the drawing room. From there, we could make our way into Milverton’s study, where the safe was. That room also had a door that opened out onto a veranda, which would be locked and too noisy to consider picking.</p><p class="p1">Watson knelt and took out his picklock tools. We were well-secluded behind the house, but I was eager to get inside and done with our task. I watched, marvelling at his finesse, wondering how many times he’d found these skills useful. After several minutes, he had the door open. Silently, we made our way through the greenhouse into the passage, and then into a room that smelled strongly of cigar smoke. A a few embers still glowed in the fireplace.</p><p class="p1">There was a curtain along the fireplace wall where we might hide if surprised. The safe stood against the wall next to the bookcase. I lit the lantern and gestured to Watson that he should get started.</p><p class="p1">“Are you certain that he’s gone to bed?” he whispered.</p><p class="p1">I motioned for silence again. “Just open the bloody thing,” I mouthed.</p><p class="p1">Watson went back to work. Praying that he’d be as quick with the safe as he’d been with the door lock, I decided to make a quick check on the rest of the house. Opening the door, I crept out into the passage and listened. The house was quiet.</p><p class="p1">I made my silent way into the hall and regarded the grand stairway leading to the first floor. I knew that there was another set of stairs in the back of the house, going up from the kitchen. If any of the servants were coming down to check on something, they would use those stairs, so I crept back towards the kitchen and listened there as well. It was then that I heard a footsteps upstairs, probably on the landing.</p><p class="p1">I hurried back to the study, where Watson had just succeeded in getting the safe open. I knelt beside him and began shuffling through the papers, “Someone is up. You must go, and I will be directly behind you. Wait for me at the iron fence.”</p><p class="p1">“I’ll not leave you!” he hissed. “Let me help, and we can leave together more quickly.”</p><p class="p1">“It will serve no purpose if we both are caught,” I whispered back. “Go now. I will hide behind the curtain before he appears.”</p><p class="p1">"Holmes—“</p><p class="p1">But then we heard the footsteps hesitate outside the door. Whoever it was must have heard us whispering. Watson slipped through the doors, motioning for me to follow him.</p><p class="p1">I had not yet found what I was looking for, though, and was willing to risk another moment of light. Just as I laid my hand upon a packet and read the name <em>Blackwell</em> on it, the door opened. In haste I extinguished the lantern, but it was too late to take my place behind the curtain without Milverton seeing.</p><p class="p1">“I have a loaded pistol in my hand,” Milverton said calmly. “You may as well reveal yourself, with your hands raised and in plain view. We can chat until the police arrive.”</p><p class="p1">I said nothing, but raised my hands, thinking of Watson, wondering if he had made it to the fence. When he heard the shot, surely he would go over the fence and run for safety.</p><p class="p1">Milverton had turned up the lights in the room and was now looking at me with curiosity, still training his pistol on me. “Remove your mask.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">When I’d removed my mask, Milverton laughed.</p><p class="p1">“Great heavens, is it you? Keep your hands up, please, Mr Holmes.” He lit the lamp on the desk. “Well, I see that my second offer has moved you to take a dangerous course of action. You are a secret romantic, are you not? Well, well. The great Sherlock Holmes stoops to burglary, when he might simply have paid. Perhaps it is not too late to bargain, though. Fifteen thousand for everything I have on John Watson. That is my offer. If you agree to pay, I will let you walk out of the room unharmed.”</p><p class="p1">Even if I had the money, or could borrow it from my brother, paying blackmail would only give him power over me, and let him ruin more people without any interference. I would be under his thumb for the rest of my career.</p><p class="p1">But pretending to bargain might give me a chance to reverse our positions.</p><p class="p1">“I’d like to see what papers you have before I consider your offer.”</p><p class="p1">He shrugged. “I have informers in many walks of life. As it happens, I have another target who knows your boy rather <em>intimately</em>. Quite an upstanding citizen, as most believe, but with a rather risky habit of visiting male brothels. His written description of their encounters— yes, it was more than once— might sell well. I’m sure I could find a few buyers if they don’t interest you.” He laughed again. “ Are you truly surprised? Perhaps you don’t know your doctor as well as you think. At any rate, in exchange for writing up his adventures with your boy, I will allow this person to pursue his political career without fear of exposure. You can purchase these documents for the price I have stated and pursue your own career, such as it is, keeping your own secrets safe. It is always satisfying to kill two birds with one stone.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s all lies.” My voice shook a bit, betraying my uncertainty.</p><p class="p1">“The account is quite convincing, I assure you, and very detailed. Dr Watson was a favourite on Cleveland Street, in an establishment whose clients have provided me with a steady income. The employees are quite eager to talk; they have been a good investment for my business. Right now, however, you may need to consider your own reputation, Mr Holmes, and that of Dr Watson.”</p><p class="p1">“I will not pay you a farthing.”</p><p class="p1">He shrugged. “Then I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you. You have become a thorn in my side, and I do not tolerate irritations. It’s not a crime to shoot a burglar, you know. I shall tell the police that I surprised you in my study, a masked man armed with a pistol. Fearing for my life, I fired, unfortunately killing you. Obviously I had no idea who you were. I was merely protecting myself from an armed criminal. You did bring a weapon, did you not? Put it on the floor, if you please. I shall not hesitate to shoot you if you so much as think of turning it on me.”</p><p class="p1">I did as he asked, hating myself but seeing no alternative.</p><p class="p1">Milverton chuckled. “What a shame that Sherlock Holmes had to die in such a dishonourable confrontation. A common thief! People will be shocked to learn that these are your methods. They will be even more shocked when they learn about you and lover. A sad end to a man who was not so clever, after all. Well, this conversation wearies me. Goodbye, Mr Holmes.”</p><p class="p1">Barely were these words out of his mouth than I dropped to the floor, reaching for my revolver as I did. As if at a distance, I heard the shot explode, then glass breaking. I wondered what the bullet had hit. I expected him to fire again, but before I could aim the revolver, the light went out, and I heard the crash of a body hitting the desk. The lamp, I assumed, had been knocked from the desk.</p><p class="p1">“You’ve done me!” Milverton cried and began to cough violently.</p><p class="p1">Groping for the dark lantern, which sat on the floor beside the safe, I raised myself up and, astonished, saw the blackmailer lying on the floor, his shirt soaked with blood. Two shots, I deduced; they must have been simultaneous.</p><p class="p1">The wall behind me was not marred; Milverton’s shot had gone wild, into the woodwork near the ceiling.</p><p class="p1">I turned to the doorand saw the source of the deadly shot.</p><p class="p1">“Come on, Holmes!” Watson motioned, still holding his revolver. “Don’t stand amazed— the household is awake and the police will soon be swarming the grounds! Move!”</p><p class="p1">Instead of moving, I knelt and began grabbing papers out of the safe, throwing them upon the embers. The fire blazed up at once, consuming them.</p><p class="p1">Seeing what I was doing, Watson came beside me pulled on my shoulder. “There’s no time. We must go!”</p><p class="p1">I’d thrown Lady Eva’s packet on the fire first, and it had been reduced to ashes. I had not found any papers with Watson’s name of them.</p><p class="p1">“A bluff,” I muttered. “He wanted me to think he had something.”</p><p class="p1">We heard voices and steps approaching.</p><p class="p1">“Holmes!” Watson hissed. “Let’s go!” He tossed the last packets in the fire, grabbed my revolver and tucked it in my coat pocket.</p><p class="p1">Footsteps in the corridor meant that discovery was imminent. Grabbing Watson’s arm, I propelled him towards the door and out into the garden.</p><p class="p1">“Follow me!” I hissed.</p><p class="p1">One quick glance behind me to see that Watson was on my heels, and I pulled out all the stops, ran hell for leather towards the boundary fence.</p><p class="p1">I could hear bobbies’ whistles tweeting, voices shouting. If I turned now, I would see every light in the house blazing, general chaos as the scene was discovered. The distance between me and the wrought-iron fence was less now. Escape was within reach.</p><p class="p1">I leaped up, grabbing the top rail, and practically vaulted myself over.</p><p class="p1">Only when I’d landed on the other side did I turn and realise the problem.</p><p class="p1">Watson had reached the fence and thrown himself at it. Being a half foot shorter than me, he struggled to reach the horizontal rail.</p><p class="p1">“Hurry, Watson! Don’t climb— jump!”</p><p class="p1">He backed up and gave another run at it, leaping up as he reached it, and falling back to the ground. “I can’t reach it, Holmes,” he whispered frantically.</p><p class="p1">“Hand me your revolver.” I tucked it into my pocket with my own.</p><p class="p1">Reaching through bars, I put my hands together, offering him a foot-hold. With this help, he was able to reach the top and sling a leg over. A ripping sound announced that he’d caught his trousers on one of the pikes.</p><p class="p1">“Leave them! Watson— now!”</p><p class="p1">Attempting to free himself, he losthis handhold and hung upside down by his belt, like a fly caught in a spider’s web. Unfortunately he was on the wrong side of the fence.</p><p class="p1">“Go, Holmes— I’m for it!”</p><p class="p1">At first I just stared. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see lights outside the house now. “Watson, I can’t leave you! They’ll try you for murder!“</p><p class="p1">“Go! It’s no good if they catch us both!”</p><p class="p1">The police were coming out through the veranda door, spreading out across the lawn, shining torches towards the perimeter. I could see dark shapes approaching and heard a confused jumble of voices shouting for us to halt.</p><p class="p1">Turning, I ran into the darkness.</p><p class="p1">From a concealed spot on the neighbouring property, I heard one of the police give a shout, and saw several run towards the fence. I watched as they took Watson down and heard them arrest him for the murder of Charles Augustus Milverton. I hoped that he would not make up some fantastic lie to avoid implicating me. It would be best if he simply refused to answer their questions. In any case, I had no intention of letting him be tried for murder.</p><p class="p1">I would go home and wait for Lestrade.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I felt in my pocket to make sure both revolvers were still there, then caught a cab back to Baker Street. When Lestrade arrived an hour later, I was sitting in front of the fire in my dressing gown, a book open upon my lap.</p><p class="p1">“Excuse me, Mr Holmes,” the Inspector said. “It’s about your boy.”</p><p class="p1">I glanced up, then looked at the clock, frowning. “I’ve sent him on an errand. I thought he’d be back by now, but if you’d care to wait, you’re welcome to have a seat.”</p><p class="p1">“You misunderstand,” Lestrade replied. “We have him down at the station.”</p><p class="p1">“Whatever for? He’s not one to loiter about or cause trouble. If you’ve trumped up some charge against him—”</p><p class="p1">“Mr Holmes, he was found at Mr Milverton’s home in Hampstead.”</p><p class="p1">“Milverton! Why, he’s the worst man in London! He’s—”</p><p class="p1">“Dead,” finished Lestrade. “Shot dead in his study. Your boy was fleeing the premises.”</p><p class="p1">“And you naturally assume that Watson had something to do with it.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, we do, Mr Holmes. The safe had been opened, there was a pile of smouldering papers in the fireplace, and a bullet in Milverton’s neck. Furthermore, Watson had lock-picking tools in his possession when we apprehended him.”</p><p class="p1">I sneered. “You have a theory about that, no doubt.”</p><p class="p1">“Seeing as how that theory might involve you as well, I’ll not say what I think. I’d like to search these premises and then take you down to the Yard for some questions.”</p><p class="p1">Snapping my book shut, I rose and stalked to the bedroom. He would search our desks, I assumed. Watson’s revolver and my own I had put back in their usual places. When I returned to the sitting room fully dressed five minutes later, Lestrade had found the two revolvers and was holding at a slip of paper which he’d taken from an envelope on my desk. It was Milverton’s note.</p><p class="p1">“We have a motive,” he announced proudly. “Milverton was blackmailing him. Since the envelope was addressed to you, Mr Holmes, I assume you know what errand your boy was on.”</p><p class="p1">“Have you questioned him?” I wrapped my scarf around my neck and put my coat on.</p><p class="p1">“Of course. He won’t say anything. I told him I would bring you, but all he said was that you’d nothing to do with it. If there’s anything you want me to know, Mr Holmes, you’d best come clean now.”</p><p class="p1">“Are you going to take me into custody, too?”</p><p class="p1">“If I have reason to think that it involves you.”</p><p class="p1">We headed down to the street. Mrs Hudson stood by the door in her wrapper, looking concerned. “Mr Holmes,” she said. “What has happened? Is the doctor all right?”</p><p class="p1">“I shall be back late, Mrs Hudson. Do not wait up. Breakfast rather later than usual, I think. Coffee, not tea.”</p><p class="p1">I climbed into Lestrade’s hansom and we took off for the station.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Once we arrived, I demanded to see Watson alone. This brought protests from Gregson, the other Inspector involved. “He’ll tell him what to say.”</p><p class="p1">“Where is the murder weapon?” I demanded, dropping into Lestrade’s chair and putting my feet up on the desk. “You know that I will get the best people to defend him, and they’re going to ask harder questions than this. You might as well share with me what you’ve found before your people muck everything up.”</p><p class="p1">“We don’t have the murder weapon,” Lestrade admitted. “When the sun comes up, we’ll search the grounds.”</p><p class="p1">“You won’t find it. I admit that Watson does own a revolver, which you found in his desk drawer and have taken as evidence, along with mine. I would like to know how you think these weapons can have been used in the murder, when neither was found at the scene.”</p><p class="p1">“Both of you might have been there; Watson was caught, but you could have escaped,” Lestrade said. “While we were taking Watson in and interrogating him, you might have come home and put the guns in their places.”</p><p class="p1">“If I am as clever as you suggest, I would have disposed of them. Now, allow me to at least see Dr Watson, to make sure that you haven’t been mistreating him.”</p><p class="p1">Lestrade and Gregson exchanged a look.</p><p class="p1">Lestrade shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible; they’re still processing him.”</p><p class="p1">“<em>Processing </em>him? Or trying to beat a confession out of him?”</p><p class="p1">“Mr Holmes, you seem to know a great deal about this business,” said Gregson. “And your boy, I’m sure, must know how to stage a murder properly by now. Working with you, he’d have learned all about that. What I’m wondering is, why did you put him up to it? He’s not your average, innocent young man, is he? He’s got a record, prior arrests. He’ll end up on in line for the hangman. And how will you feel about that? Your favourite, a noose around his neck, the bottom about to drop out—”</p><p class="p1">“Shut up, Gregson,” I replied savagely. “If you think you can convict a man without evidence, you are far stupider than I thought. Now, bring Watson up here and let me talk to him.”</p><p class="p1">Day had dawned by the time the two inspectors finished debating whether Watson ought to be questioned in my presence. I’d threatened to wake my brother and have legal counsel sent over before any more questions could be asked.</p><p class="p1">“If you won’t let me see Watson, take me to the house. Let me examine the crime scene before your men trample every bit of evidence.”</p><p class="p1">“Mr Holmes, until we determine whether you are a suspect—“</p><p class="p1">“You will watch me, and see that I am not altering anything.”</p><p class="p1">At this point, a constable entered and reported that Milverton’s pistol had been taken as evidence, but no second weapon had been found, in spite of a thorough search of the grounds, made easier by the lack of dense foliage. It was an unusually clear and bright day, and the constables made quick work of their task.</p><p class="p1">The two detectives finally agreed that we should all go to the scene, minus Watson, who should remain locked up.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">At the house, they stood and watched as I made my careful investigation. Instead of trying to read the story of what had happened, I was seeing the evidence through their eyes, assembling a story would fit the evidence and convince them that Watson hadn’t killed the blackmailer. The safe was completely empty, and there were no legible pages in the grate. Milverton’s bed had not been slept in; his body, already taken to the morgue, had been found wearing his day clothes.</p><p class="p1">“How do you reconstruct this, gentlemen?” I asked. “One pistol fired, a bullet in the holder’s neck, another in the ceiling.” I pointed out Milverton’s bullet, which they had overlooked.</p><p class="p1">“There was a confrontation,” Gregson said. “Milverton surprised the burglar, drew his gun. The burglar shot and killed him. As Milverton fell, his gun fired, but the shot went wild.”</p><p class="p1">“As usual, you have missed everything of importance. This was a planned meeting, not a chance encounter. Milverton was not dressed for bed; he’d been awake, expecting someone. That person is your murderer, gentlemen.”</p><p class="p1">“And you still believe that Watson fired the shot that killed him?”</p><p class="p1">Lestrade shrugged. “I can’t see any other explanation.”</p><p class="p1">I stood by the desk. “You said the body was discovered lying thus, the feet towards the veranda door, the head towards the hallway. If the shot was fired by Watson, who was over there, by the safe, then why did the body fall in that manner? The shot that killed him must have come from the veranda door. Was that door locked?” I asked.</p><p class="p1">“No,” Gregson replied. “He made his escape that way.”</p><p class="p1">“And it could mean that someone came in by that door, shot Milverton, and escaped.”</p><p class="p1">“And where was Watson?”</p><p class="p1">I indicated the alcove, concealed by curtains. “The burglar, whose identity we do not know, might have hidden here when he heard someone enter. If he was—“</p><p class="p1">Constable Brown came to the door, panting. “Footprints,” he gasped. “By the fence.”</p><p class="p1">Realising that I was going to have to work my game quickly, I said, “Two pairs of shoes. “One pair, soft-soled boots, eleven and a half. The other, rubber-soled tennis shoes, size eight. Size eights never made it over the fence.” I stood. “Shall we return to Scotland Yard now?”</p><p class="p1">Lestrade frowned. “Am I arresting you?”</p><p class="p1">“No, Inspector. You’re going to listen to what I have to tell you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As we came through the doors of Scotland Yard, a policeman approached and whispered something to Lestrade.</p><p class="p1">With a smile, he turned to me. “Well, Dr Watson is making a statement.”</p><p class="p1">“I’d like to see him, if I may.”</p><p class="p1">“Not yet. We’ll need to talk with you first,” Gregson said.</p><p class="p1">We all took a seat in one of the interrogation rooms. I lit a cigarette, gathering my thoughts. This would be a test, I understood, of how well I knew my Watson.</p><p class="p1">“Very well,” I began. “As you are aware, being police officers and all that entails, Charles Augustus Milverton was a notorious blackmailer. He made outrageous demands upon those unfortunate enough to be caught in his web, and those who could not pay became examples, inspiring other victims to borrow money from any sources possible, in order to pay rather than be exposed. We can regard as fools those people who might leave evidence for this predator to find, but the truth is that the blackmailer’s ammunition doesn’t have to be credible to be believed. There is no standard for the evidence he uses to extort money; I suspect that much of Milverton’s was fabricated. There is no court that can help these victims.”</p><p class="p1">Lestrade nodded. “Yes, Mr Holmes, we all know who Mr Milverton was. Don’t think we haven’t been looking for something to pin on him. He’s a clever one— <em>was</em> clever, that is. But murder is murder, and if you set your boy up to do this, you’re as guilty as he is.”</p><p class="p1">“Very well,” I said. “I will give you my statement. Please hear me out. Tonight a vengeful retribution found Mr Milverton. A victim of his, a mysterious woman, confronted him. Her motive, revenge. He threatened her, and she put a bullet in his neck. She then left by way of the veranda doors.”</p><p class="p1">Gregson smirked. “And how would you know this?”</p><p class="p1">“I know because I was there.”</p><p class="p1">They both sat up a bit straighter. “You were there? And Watson?”</p><p class="p1">“He was there as well.”</p><p class="p1">“You were committing a crime,” Lestrade said “You were burgling his safe.”</p><p class="p1">“Mr Lestrade, how many cases have I solved for you? And for you, Mr Gregson?”</p><p class="p1">“Many,” said Lestrade. Gregson reluctantly nodded.</p><p class="p1">“And might you be needing me at some future date to drag your heads out of your arses when you get stuck on another case?”</p><p class="p1">The detectives refused to meet my eyes.</p><p class="p1">“In fact, you regularly rely on me to see what you miss. Rather than preening yourselves on your own cleverness, you should recognise my generous contributions. Well, I will not state what we all know to be true.You have observed me at countless crime scenes, and have learned something thereby, I think. I ask that you apply my methods to the present situation. Milverton was clearly expecting someone. He was armed with a pistol because he knew this person wanted to kill him. The murderer, a woman who had been victimised by him, entered the house, shot him in the neck, and left.”</p><p class="p1">“What proof do you have?” Gregson demanded.</p><p class="p1">“Perhaps you know who this woman was,” Lestrade added. “She might corroborate your story.”</p><p class="p1">“It was dark, and she wore a veil. We had concealed ourselves in the alcove behind the curtain you observed. As for the murder weapon, you won’t find it. She took it with her. This is what the evidence tells us.”</p><p class="p1">“You cannot claim any special privilege, Mr Holmes,” Lestrade said. “We can compel you to testify.”</p><p class="p1">“I have told you what I saw. You are an honest man, Lestrade. I have seen you bring justice for many victims. You believe in the law’s ability to find the criminal and bring a just sentence on him. But you would be the last one to condemn a man— or woman— without evidence.”</p><p class="p1">“I am an officer of the law,” he replied.</p><p class="p1">“And yet you are playing the part of judge today, bringing a terrible sentence on a person who has done no wrong.”</p><p class="p1">“Dr Watson will receive a fair trial. I don’t have anything to do with that. We merely investigate the crime, find the evidence, and turn the suspect over for justice. You might start by explaining why you were there. You have to admit that it looks suspicious.”</p><p class="p1">“I was seeking the return of documents for a client. Milverton had decided to make an example of her, hoping to raise the prices he can command of his other victims. If you force me to name my client, this will expose the very circumstances that led Milverton to blackmail her. The effect is the same as if Milverton himself— a man we all know to be a despicable human being—had published her youthful indiscretions to the whole of London. It would ruin her. It is my duty to protect my client.”</p><p class="p1">Gregson rubbed his eyes. “So you were there, burgling his safe, stealing letters that belonged to your client, whom you refuse to name, when another woman, whom you had never seen before, came in through the veranda door and shot him. Is that correct? ”</p><p class="p1">Before I could answer, a constable came to the door. “We have taken Watson’s statement. Would you like to interview him now?”</p><p class="p1">Lestrade took the paper handed to him and read. He frowned, handed it to Gregson, who also frowned.</p><p class="p1">I could only assume that Watson had decided to sacrifice himself for my sake.</p><p class="p1">“Mr Holmes,” Lestrade said. “Your boy has—“</p><p class="p1">“Mr Lestrade,” I said. “He is not my <em>boy.</em> If you are going to accuse him of murder, at least you can call him a <em>man</em>. He is my friend and colleague, a medical doctor, a veteran of Afghanistan—“</p><p class="p1">“Mr Holmes, Dr Watson states that the two of you broke into Milverton’s house in order to obtain documents relating to a client of yours— whom he will not name,” Lestrade said. “He picked the lock and cracked the safe, and you destroyed the documents. You both took refuge behind the curtain when you heard someone coming, and stayed there, witnessing a confrontation between Milverton and a veiled woman, who entered through the veranda door and argued with him, claiming he had ruined her life. He threatened her with a gun, and she then shot him. His gun went off; the shot lodged into the ceiling above where you were hidden. He could not give a good description of the woman, whom he had never seen before, but said she was tall, with a deep, thrilling voice. She left immediately after the shooting, going out the veranda door. When he had ascertained that Milverton was dead, you and he finished destroying the contents of the safe and left by the veranda door.” He paused, looking for a reaction from me.</p><p class="p1">“Just as I said in my statement.”</p><p class="p1">“And the papers you were looking for had to do with a client. What about that note I found?”</p><p class="p1">“Milverton had nothing,” I replied. “While he is not eager to advertise the details, Dr Watson has never denied his past. A man ought to have a chance to improve himself and not be hanged for trying to survive.”</p><p class="p1">“You committed a crime, Mr Holmes,” said Gregson. “Breaking and entering, theft—“</p><p class="p1">“A criminal is dead, gentlemen. We did not kill him. Nor did we come prepared to kill him. Our <em>theft</em> was of documents relating to our client, to protect her from blackmail. Perhaps that is a crime, technically, but Milverton’s many crimes have gone unpunished for years. Is it any surprise that one of his victims struck back, taking the revenge that the law denied her?”</p><p class="p1">Gregson and Lestrade exchanged looks. “They both mention the veiled woman,” Lestrade said. “And he was dressed as if he expected to meet someone. Nothing on his calendar, though.”</p><p class="p1">“I snorted. “Inspector, really. Do you expect a blackmailer to put the names of people on his calendar? Why, any of his servants might blackmail him if he were so careless.”</p><p class="p1">Gregson shook his head. “And when this lady came in, the two of you just stood there and watched her shoot Milverton?”</p><p class="p1">“It seemed a type of poetic justice,” I said. “We did not involve ourselves because proving our story might be difficult. And by now all the evidence you might have found that would corroborate our story has been thoroughly trampled by your dim-witted constables.”</p><p class="p1">“So you ran,” Gregson said.</p><p class="p1">“Of course. When we saw that Milverton was past help, we naturally took off running. Our intent was to scale the fence and disappear before your lot started making the wrong deductions. Unfortunately, Watson is short, through no fault of his own, and didn’t make it over the fence. Three more inches, and you would not have known he was there. You would have found the scene, deduced that the murderer entered through the veranda door, their intent obvious.”</p><p class="p1">“Did the lady see you?”</p><p class="p1">“As I’ve already noted, we were hidden behind the curtain. My guess is that she did not know anyone else was there.”</p><p class="p1">“We don’t have a murderer.” Gregson sighed wearily. “A man shot dead right in his own home— we have to arrest someone!”</p><p class="p1">I smiled. “Not my problem. You’ve spent so much time browbeating Watson that the woman has most likely left the country by now.”</p><p class="p1">“And how do I write this up?” Lestrade said.</p><p class="p1">Gregson smirked. “Not my problem.” He stood and moved towards the door. “Good luck with that, mate.”</p><p class="p1">Lestrade sighed. “This is a disaster. I have a dead man, no murderer, no weapon, two burglars— and a story that no one will believe.”</p><p class="p1">“Hardly a disaster, Inspector. You may close your file on Milverton, since his little kingdom of blackmail has fallen. You interviewed Watson and me independently, and we agree on what happened. That ought to clear him of the murder charge. Pursuing us on the charge of breaking and entering is likely to create more problems than it solves.“</p><p class="p1">“You might have agreed ahead of time what your story would be,” he pointed out.</p><p class="p1">“Because we anticipated a murder? Obviously, we did not expect to meet anyone there. We were wearing masks, unarmed, and found ourselves in the middle of something we had no idea was going to occur.”</p><p class="p1">“I ought to make you testify.”</p><p class="p1">“That would be unfortunate, and reflect badly on you for letting the real murderer go. Even more unfortunate because my client would have to be named in your report, and that would ruin her reputation, the very thing we are all trying to avoid. And you have not enough evidence to arrest anyone. No, Lestrade, there are certain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to some extent, justify private revenge. Let it go.”</p><p class="p1">“We arrested Watson, though. How am I going to explain his presence at the crime scene?”</p><p class="p1">“Case of mistaken identity,” I suggested. “In fact, you need not mention us at all. Since your reports generally credit all my successes to yourself, no one will be surprised if you keep it to yourself. Unless you would rather claim this as my failure. Say that you called me in, and I could not solve it. Will that do?”</p><p class="p1">Lestrade did not look grateful for my suggestions. He looked weary, annoyed, and resigned. He stood. “I’d better get started.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Watson was released, bearing a few bruises from his experience, but insisting that he was fine.</p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry,” he said as we ate a late breakfast.</p><p class="p1">“For what?”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t even know. For being short, I suppose.”</p><p class="p1">“You can hardly take responsibility for that. Blame your parents.” I sipped my coffee, that being a better remedy for the long, sleepless night than a cup of tea. “You did get the safe open. Kudos for that.”</p><p class="p1">He gave a short laugh. “One would think that a man who blackmails people would have a formidable strongbox. We were lucky in that.” He took another piece of toast and a rasher of bacon.</p><p class="p1">“And that shot, through the glass door— right through his neck! I had no idea you were such a marksman, Watson. Your hand must have been remarkably steady.”</p><p class="p1">He helped himself to another egg. “My hand does not shake when I am sure of something. He was going to kill you, Holmes.”</p><p class="p1">“Then it’s fortunate one of us had the sense to suggest that we bring our revolvers.”</p><p class="p1">Billy came up with the morning paper. I opened it and read the account of last evening’s adventure. “Well, two suspects are said to have escaped justice. One of them sounds a bit like you, Watson. No mention of the arrest, though. I suppose Lestrade decided it was simply too difficult to explain. Oh, there is mention of a woman who was seen leaving the premises moments before the alarm was raised.” I lowered the paper and looked at him. “Watson, there is something I need to understand. Why did you give a statement? There wasn’t enough evidence to convict you of murder, and I could have finessed the burglary charge. Why did you feel it necessary to create this ridiculous cover story?”</p><p class="p1">He paused mid-bite, frowning. “I hadn’t intended to say anything, but it occurred to me that doing silence would appear suspicious if I was insisting on my innocence. I thought of the evidence in that room, and the story came into my head.”</p><p class="p1">“Ridiculous,” I repeated. “It was an impulsive act on your part. I believe you would follow your instincts even if they led straight into the Black Hole of Calcutta. We’re lucky that Lestrade and Gregson are imbeciles.”</p><p class="p1">He grinned. “I suppose they are. And I suppose I do trust my instincts too much. But it all turned out well. Tell me, Holmes, how did you happen to invent the same story I gave them in my statement? I was more than a little nervous that you would tell them something different. I was relying on you saying nothing.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re a writer, Watson— a <em>romantic</em> writer who turns every crime scene into a positive swamp of emotions. A story of self-defence might necessitate a trial and expose our client. Instead you would tell a story that involved a third party, a stranger. And I asked myself, what kind of stranger would my Watson invent? A woman, of course, a tragic and beautiful female who had been wronged by a monster and only wanted justice. She wore a veil so you would not be able to identify her in any detail. And you always seem to fancy tall women with deep, thrilling voices.”</p><p class="p1">“You figured all of that out from my writing?”</p><p class="p1">“From you, yourself. Do you remember how I read you at our first encounter? I have known you for nearly five years now, Watson, and have much more evidence than I did on New Year’s Day, 1881. I notice the way you look at people, how you respond to different types. And I though I complain about your stories, I do read them. In spite of your shady past and your questionable choices, you have a strong moral sense. I knew you wouldn’t simply give yourself up to Lestrade and Gregson.” </p><p class="p1">“What makes you think I wouldn’t do that? If it saved your life—”</p><p class="p1">“You wouldn’t do it because you believe in justice more than you trust the law. You felt your actions in saving my life were justified, but would not be believed by the police. And you’re a romantic, so you invented a damsel to save. Not so very hard to deduce. It’s exactly the kind of story that would draw in readers.”</p><p class="p1">His eyes twinkled. “Perhaps I’ll write it up one day.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m sure you will.”</p><p class="p1">“I’ll leave out the part where you bullied Lestrade and Gregson into believing in an imaginary murderer.”</p><p class="p1">“I should hope so. Frankly, I find this whole adventure a bit embarrassing.”</p><p class="p1">“How so?”</p><p class="p1">“I used the evidence to lead Scotland Yard to an erroneous conclusion. The position of the body, the trajectory of the shots, the condition of the desk—“ I shook my head. “It was child’s play, really. Your story was ridiculous. And why did you include me? You might have said you were there alone.”</p><p class="p1">“The footprints,” he said. “I noticed them when they were wrestling me to the ground. The soil was softer on the other side of the fence, and I could clearly see your prints.”</p><p class="p1">“While they were beating you, you just happened to notice footprints?” My astonishment must have been apparent, for he smiled at me with some pride.</p><p class="p1">"Holmes,” he said. “You have impressed upon me the importance of observation. Though not perfected, the habit is ingrained in me. When I considered what I should say, I knew it had to agree with the evidence.”</p><p class="p1">I shook my head. “Remarkable.”</p><p class="p1">“Do you really think so?” It was his turn to be surprised.</p><p class="p1">“Yes, of course. You are quite remarkable, John. Impulsive, ridiculous, and remarkable.”</p><p class="p1">He blushed. “What were you looking for, anyway? We might have got away sooner if you hadn’t looked at every one of those bloody packets.”</p><p class="p1">“Curiosity. I wanted to see who he was blackmailing, and to prevent that information from falling into other hands.”</p><p class="p1">He smiled. “You would not have taken such a risk for our client, whom you called foolish. It’s because of the note he sent you that you looked. He was threatening me.”</p><p class="p1">“I did not know you had seen that.”</p><p class="p1">“I did. You needn’t have worried.”</p><p class="p1">“You have become a respectable gentleman, John. I didn’t want all of that to be thrown away. How would you ever go into practice?”</p><p class="p1">“I took my degree for your sake, and to prove that I could do it. I will always be grateful to you for that. But I still don’t give a fig for anyone’s opinion of me, and I don’t intend to start a practice. I am your partner, and as long as you think well of me, I am content. Even so, I’m glad he won’t be blackmailing more people.”</p><p class="p1">“As am I. Blackmail is a particularly vile crime.”</p><p class="p1">“For those foolish and indiscreet enough to get caught,” Watson added, aiming a significant look at me.</p><p class="p1">“We are not fools, John. Nor shall we be indiscreet.”</p><p class="p1">I refilled my cup with coffee, debated about having an egg.</p><p class="p1">“I confess that I’m knackered,” Watson said, leaning back in his chair and stretching. “Might just crawl into bed and see if I can sleep.”</p><p class="p1">“Do you still have your mask?” I asked casually.</p><p class="p1">Smiling, he pulled it out of his pocket and put it on. “Fancy a bit of burglary, my dear?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This story was surprisingly hard to write. </p><p>I set out to adapt “The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton,” published in 1905. In that story, Holmes and Watson take the law into their own hands, breaking into Milverton’s house and stealing letters belonging to their client. They get away with it, and at the end, Lestrade comes to consult Holmes, who declines to be involved, stating, “No, Lestrade,  there are certain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to some extent, justify private revenge.”</p><p>I’ve never been satisfied with the plot— the mysterious veiled woman as the murderer, the coincidence of Holmes and Watson burgling the safe in the very room where the murder is committed. The irony of Lestrade coming to Holmes for help in solving it is delicious, but the whole story sounds dodgy. </p><p>I have the feeling that this is one of those tales where Dr Watson is being deliberately unreliable, covering up “the real story, which may never be told.” I set out to retcon that story, to unveil the real murderer, and put our heroes in an unheroic position requiring that cover story.</p><p>In the ACD tale, as Holmes and Watson flee the scene, Watson is nearly caught, but shakes off the constable who has grabbed him. Lestrade describes to them the man they almost caught, and Holmes laughs, saying, “That’s rather vague. Why, it might be a description of Watson!” It was, of course. ACD might show his heroes breaking the law, but he would never let them get caught. </p><p>I thought, but what if Watson hadn’t gotten away? What if there was no veiled woman? We all know that Watson could easily shoot a man if he thought Holmes was in danger. </p><p>They are lucky that forensic science was still in a primitive state. The ability to match a bullet to a particular gun depended on the improvement of magnification, and did not come into forensic use until the early 20th century. The use of fingerprints in criminal investigations was beginning at this time, but it wasn’t until 1901 that Scotland Yard established its first Fingerprint Bureau. Henry Faulds, a Scottish surgeon, had published a paper on it in 1880, but when he tried to sell Scotland Yard on the idea, he was rejected.</p><p>Thank you for reading! Our heroes live to find more adventures…</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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